Sunday, March 27, 2011

There is this one thing about her , that i am going to miss all my life. She had the most annoying habbit of always leaving the toilet seat up. She would look at me , when we did our regular movie nights with popcorn , and ask , that what was all the big deal about the toilet seat anyway ? and i would tell her , its not so cold when you sit on the pot in the morning. her logic was, there is nothing like a cold pot turned warm by your bottom to really usher in that magical process of excretion .

she was vivid that ways. infact i remember she had several stories regarding excretion , potties and you know body processes in general.

but this was not the thing i was talking about - that is when i said i'll remember her all my life . she always slept with her legs widely uncrossed and a weird habbit of running her hand between her breasts and then smelling her hand to differentiate between the strength of the deodrant she used. she used to tell me , that she could bear everything , except her breasts smelling bad. there was something violating about her obsession with her own breasts - she did not note their droopiness, or their rather ample size , but always marvelled at the sheer joy of being given breasts.

she was quirky that ways. her body towel was always white and her head towel was always pink - i never asked her , why the particular colours.
when she had too much work , she used to rip off the bedsheet from her bed , and sleep on the matress. when she was very upset, she cooked , or she cleaned. she never cleaned the inside of her cupboard, she only removed the number of things in her view and hid them in her bed bunk. she always twitched her toes when she saw something really romantic, she always listened to breaking benjamin when she was upset. she had a problem with dreams - they always featured unescapable situations ,and ended rather nightmarishly.
she always judged people by their noses - if they had a pretty nose, pretty as in straight , or cute, or perky , like her upturned nose, she liked them. there was something ugly about people with ugly noses . she always asked for extra sugar with her coffee, she hated walking to college alone and would hang around till someone would walk with her. she liked to sleep late, and then not sleep the next day at all, her mind was always filled with things she thought she should note down, she hated phone conversations , till they became necessary. she was a people pleaser, in a way, but it was so difficult for her to come through for anyone.

she had this innate capability to be everyone's agony aunt ,and she could strike a conversation with anyone. she always read out to me what she wrote, she craved appreciation , or she just liked the sound of her own voice. she hated when friends moved on to different life levels , but she never cared enough to do something about it.
she loved those backpack type bags, and never wanted to carry a different one , once she found one. she liked to put her hair in a little bun on top of her head ,and there was nothing like no bath weekends.

she had the hugest thing for josh lucas - and refused to believe it was him in any other movie apart from sweet home alabama - she thought most girls were beautiful , and most men not so great. she was always playing out things in her head, and hence real life never made her that happy. letters, emails, even texts had more of an effect on her, but words, somehow , there was no one with the right words for her.

i will always remember one thing about her though - she could make me laugh just as much as she could make me cry. she could drive anyone crazy , and she was always looking out for more books to read, more music to hear and more movies to watch . she was pseudo that ways, and she knew it. she didnt think there was nything wrong with it. she knew there were people who did;nt like her - the reasons perplexed her just as much as the reasons behind the people who liked her.
i will miss her - she was always trying to change, and i think , everytime she tried, she changed a little. there is no way to stop her from changing. she wont stop , not for me , not for herself.

i love her - and i loved her - and i dont think , i will love her in the future.
but there is one thing that i will always remember - she showed me a different world every day i was with her, even when she was predictable, she knew there was something different about her routine return to things . she could forgive, she couldnt forget. she crushed me, so many times, yet i am sure, i never hated her for it.
and that;s all that matters - that even though ,today, i have no love for her, there is no hate.

Friday, March 4, 2011

If there was one thing he regretted, it was not having died for love ….. – Love in the time of Cholera

When does love become apologetic ? When do you have to do things so as not to harm the balance of an old love ? What are the formalities that you have written in your book for our love now dead, but still burning , still breathing when memories take control , when there is silence, when there is darkness ? When do you think of me – without regretting the things that you did, or the things I did not ?

I saw you there today – as I slept , fitfully , waking at every sound in my room. It was not a good sleep – it was troubled , and in that troubled sleep I met you. I don’t know if it was troubled because I met you or it was my demons , rushing in , filling my ears with noises I could not comprehend. You stood there – not a day older than you were some years ago when I first met you. All you failings have been dimmed by time. You are perfect , in that troubled oasis of my mind. I see you , not looking at me . that was when I woke up , for you were always looking at me , when you were the age you were in my dream.
I have been reading about love, and I have been wondering , why it never happened for you and me. And what happened for us ? where did it go , and why did it destroy itself ? and if it is completely gone then why do you still exist in my life, not as you were a few years ago ? why do you smile your half smiles, and why do I look away when you try to talk ? what are we thinking as we try to grip each other existing as we were in the present ?
I don’t like the present – much as I disdain the future. The past is mocking me , yet , the fact that we will never live down it seems to hold me , not steady , not cast ashore yet in this swirling sea of dreams. Turbulent dreams.
Do you dream of me still ? do I look as I looked a few years ago ? is that comforting ? does it bother you that I have changed, worse than change could have changed me ?
I want to hold onto something – the past and its memories slip past me, for I am older, and more skeptical . but one thing I know for sure – I almost died for love. A love that will never exist. A love that never existed at all. Yet I died for it , and you saved me. Death happened.i moved on. And so did you.
But even then – even after death , you are just as old as you were – a few years ago, before you saved me in my head. And now I know the trouble was’nt you – it was me. It was me knowing that I will die, and you , in all our miserable unfortunateness will save me.